


The Choices He Made - A Story of Louie LeBeau (no, really, it is, just be patient)

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 17:41:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18057119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: "We've each of us lost so much to that war - the lives we would have had.  That cannot be changed, but we can try to make good choices for ourselves now.  We will not be able to have EVERYTHING we might want, who does, but we can have some of what we want.  We just have to decide what best to strive for."Louie LeBeau to Peter Newkirk, 'Reunion'





	The Choices He Made - A Story of Louie LeBeau (no, really, it is, just be patient)

**Author's Note:**

> After the war. 
> 
> Primary story references: 'Marya' and 'Reunion', along with 'Rescue'. Along with a faint connection to the Mercy Thompson (book fandom) story 'Ben and the Not Quite A Wolf'.
> 
> The Garrison's Gorillas tag is for their connection to the overall story (and past stories) only; the guys don't actually appear (though Meghada does), but some readers of my stories from both fandoms might be interested. (Please bypass if not, of course.). The events from the GG story 'Relax, General. Just Think Of It As Being Exceptionally Well-Endowed!' are referenced here, as well.

He had lost so much - family, his home, his budding career as a chef, a girl he'd once thought he loved but who had proved false and wed another. Of course, he had found some new things because of that war as well - he had found new friends, brothers-in-arms, and a burning love for a beautiful and vibrant woman playing a very dangerous game. 

Now, with the war over, he had to look closely at his options. What choices will he be given? What choices will he make? After all, as he would tell Pierre, Peter Newkirk, "you can't have EVERYTHING you want". What will LeBeau decide is most worth possessing? What will he sacrifice to get what he wants most of all?

 

Scotland:  
Cally O'Donnell and Marya Parmanova had made it back to Cally's family, the Clan, after Marya's capture and daring rescue, and settled in, no longer alone. They had settled in Scotland, at Logan's castle; heaven knows he had enough room, and if there were possibly a few ghosts, it seemed they were of a congenial nature. The ghosts already on premises, that is; the ones both Marya and Cally brought in their minds, that was a different story, but not one to be told now, or perhaps ever.

It was comfortable enough, they had been made welcome, but it all felt incomplete somehow, and they both knew it was not their permanent home. They had waited, while Marya had healed, and now the war was over. 

Cally watched as the beautiful White Russian figeted and couldn't quite be at ease. Oh, Marya tried, certainly. So very aware of what had been risked to win her free of the trap the Nazi's had caught her in, she obviously wasn't going to be the first to admit she was unhappy. That would sound too much like ingratitude. But still, Cally knew, there were things that needed to be discussed.

One was where their permanent home would be, though they had started narrowing it down. It had become a favorite tea time activity, in fact. It was easy enough to eliminate the obvious - Russia was out, no matter how that tore at Marya's heart. Germany, of course. England might do for an occasional visit, especially to the Clan Enclave being built at Brandonshire south of London, but not long-term; there were too many military, intelligence people floating around, ones who would remember a gorgeous White Russian spy. 

South America had become the relocation spot of choice for the Nazis on the run, and would become even more so, so that was out. France, while highly desirable on at least one level, would be very iffy, as would the other Axis countries, since Marya had been fairly active throughout, not just in Germany, and she was quite memorable. Not everyone on the Allied side would remember her with any kindness; in fact, her role in the war was questionable for many. That was one of the many down-sides to working undercover; in order for the cover to be effective, it must be highly-believable, and Marya had been the best at the game.

Neither of them favored the United States, for a variety of reasons, though Canada and Mexico remained possibilities. Russia had too much of a presence in the Middle East, and an increasing one in Africa, and some of the Nazi's would be headed there as well; they would be always looking over their shoulders for a glimpse of recognition in someone's unfriendly eyes. For such a big world, they were marking out huge chunks every time they sat down to consider the question.

If it had just been a question of WHERE, it might have been relatively easy. Cross off everywhere they'd already decided would NOT work, focus on eliminating a lot of the rest, and flip a coin for what was left. 

But it wasn't that easy; there were many other issues as stake, for Marya in particular. Cally would have been content pretty much anywhere Marya was, though she would really like to have a Clan Enclave at least fairly close by. This was too uneasy, too uncertain a world to isolate yourself from those who cared about your wellbeing, would step in if you needed a hand. And Marya had been very valuable, very busy, on behalf of her country, and she was, as said before, quite memorable.

They would have to take care; the Soviets were still looking for the White Russian, with new plans for making her once again useful to the State, after they firmly discussed a few areas they felt she had perhaps let them down a trifle. 

Marya held a great love for her country, for Mother Russia; the Soviets, the government? Not so much. Cally was highly indignant with them herself. Marya had done all her government had asked and had gotten damned all in return. It sure as hell hadn't been the Soviets who had pulled Marya out of that hole! It had been Cally and the Clan, those who claimed her as Family now; in fact, had claimed her as Family ever since Cally had proclaimed Marya Bond-Mate so many years ago, at the end of Cally's Internship with the Russian, much to Marya's shock though not so much the Clan's.

"They're not even grateful, Marya! That's what gets my goat! Yes, the Clan asks a lot of us, within the Contracts and without, but they appreciate us, support us. They limit the Contracts we are given, to try and give us a life outside that field. We never worry that the Clan will turn their back or betray us if the circumstances look favorable for that, nor that they would send us into a trap knowingly but without US knowing. And it's not just your Soviets, either! Meghada says she's having to watch very carefully to be sure her lads aren't used for some nonsense as well. Well, they tried a lovely double-cross after the end of the war, those idiots up at London HQ; if it hadn't been for the Clan, it would have all gone very badly. Lord knows how Meghada would have reacted if her lads had come to real harm! Likely taken out half of London and Washington, along with Langley! Caeide has Shjean working full time on keeping official claws away from Peter as well."

For them to have a life, Marya would have to disappear totally as far as the Russian government was concerned. She was pretty sure Hogan might be keeping an eagle's eye out for her as well; he'd hinted as much during their last encounter. Yes, she must be out of his reach also. Along with the Germans, of course. And a myriad of others.

Marya was also worried about her family, her blood family, worried in more ways than one. Of course, the government would be looking to use them against her, as an 'incentive' for her to do their bidding, though that might be more dangerous than the government ever imagined. Oh, not from Marya's wrath, though that would certainly be present.

No, it was that Marya's family, one of the oldest of the few surviving witch families, was not to be messed with. Well, they weren't WHITE witches, after all, no matter they considered themselves White Russian. And if the government tried to get that family to side with them, pressure them to work for them? Aie, like a crocodile making an alliance with a python; things might run smoothly for awhile, but sooner or later there would be a battle royale and at least one of the combatants would be making a meal and probably luggage out of the other. Frankly, Cally would have laid heavy odds on Marya's family, as much as she disliked and distrusted them. In any case, she would prefer she and everyone she cared about kept well away during such a battle.

Cally had met a few of them, Marya's aunt, her cousin, and a few others, during her Internship, and she'd have been worried if any of them had been HER family as well! She had been polite but very cautious around them; you just WERE around witch-blood! One of the Clan maxims was "always be polite to a witch, until it becomes necessary to kill them, which is more than likely to happen sooner or later." Of course, there was a similar maxim concerning the Druids, except the maxim added, "and they aren't likely to STAY dead, so be sure and watch your back afterwards!" Life and death was such a complicated matter sometimes.

And Marya's family didn't respect the very different talent their non-witch family member possessed, but it was obvious they felt they had first call on her, thought they should be able to make use of her as they wished, just by virtue of her being family. Marya didn't agree, and as for Cally's opinion, well, it was not repeatable. And no, it was NOT a similar relationship as what Cally had with the Clan! Bite your tongue!

After all, sometimes the uses the witch families had for their non-witch members were highly unpleasant, even fatal. The search for more power didn't make allowances for familial relationships; in fact, shared blood could increase the power obtainable, if you were willing to make a few sacrifices along the way. Marya still remembered the stories about her great-aunt Ludlorna who went from being a minor power to being quite a dangerous woman indeed, just about the time her two sons, a daughter, and her husband met unfortunate ends (at least it was supposed so, though no bodies were ever found). The fact that the family spoke ADMIRINGLY of Ludlorna for her willingness to make 'necessary sacrifices' said a lot. 

Yes, Marya's family was another group the two women would need to leave behind in the fog, if they were to have a future together. A little help from the Clan, perhaps the Grandmother herself, should take care of that. The Clan, although they didn't broadcast it far and wide, they had more than a little 'power' of their own, if from quite a different source. Considering their background, probably from more than a few sources even.

Yet, the other issue, well, the main one of a variety of others, was the unknown whereabouts of Marya's beloved 'small one', one Louie LeBeau, one of the Command Team from Hogan's group at Stalag 13. Promises had been made, a tentative committment made as well. But where the devil had the man disappeared to?? 

And finding him was only the first step, of course. Find him, Gather him In, and find a place where they could build a life together, the three of them. And that would be a journey of many steps, but at least they knew where their journey would begin, a budding Enclave in the south of England, where an O'Donnell cousin and her extended family made their home. Meghada usually had her finger on the pulse of things; it was time to have a good sit down.

 

Brandonshire, England:

Meghada poured out some of her melt-the-spoon coffee, setting the heavy cream and sugar on the table. She knew Marya at least would welcome the dilution, though Cousin Cally was well accustomed to drinking the brew as it was. Cally was of the Panthera; they didn't breed weaklings in that line.

"Peter hasn't any idea, of course. They were all separated by nationality when they left the camp, and there's been no contact since. Caeide has started a search, knowing Peter would want to know, but not a great deal of luck so far, at least about LeBeau, other than perhaps Paris might be the place to start. An inquiry to their commander, Colonel, well, now General Hogan? Around about, of course, through someone he'd have more reason to cooperate with than any of US. You know how fond he is of Caeide, and we have a history as well, the charming colonel and myself and my guys. No response whatsoever, not that we truly expected any better. Probably had something more important on his mind, a cocktail party perhaps, or a scheme to topple a small country somewhere, or perhaps a nun or maybe a priest to seduce, an innocent to despoil. Something far more amusing than the whereabouts and current welfare of his former command team" 

The look on Meghada's face was highly unpleasant, pretty much in line with her opinion of Robert Hogan. No, she didn't discount the worth of his efforts on behalf in the fight against Hitler; she just didn't think that gave him a pass on several other of his actions. 

"But I talked to Coura who keeps up a correspondence with another one of the guys from the camp, Andrew Carter, who was also an important part of the team Peter and your 'small one' worked on."

"One common French thread in the Underground in that part of Germany, and in other areas around, was a name - Rene, or Rascal as he was also known. Caeide worked with him a couple of times, I believe, and myself as well. He is someone quite different now, very much a part of the reconstruction in France. He supposedly had very widespread contacts then, and probably does now. He was rather compulsive in that, as I remember."

"In fact, he showed up in so many places, so many times, we even wondered if there was more than one man, perhaps brothers, perhaps a team, using the same code names. It seems difficult to believe he was operating in Hammelburg at the same time the man going by the name of Rascal helped us pull Craig and Actor out of that German communications outpost in Stralsund, though the descriptions match quite well. There was also another operative, a woman called Tiger. I believe you shall find her with this Rene, now going by Michel Brevard. There you might find a lead to your Louie LeBeau."

Cally sipped the coffee, reaching for a hot roll dotted with chopped fruit and spice, dripping with a honey'd glaze. For a Dragon, Meghada had a very sure hand in the kitchen; after one taste, she knew she needed to get the recipe. 

Looking at Marya, Cally smiled gently and asked, "well, shall we go ahunting, my love? For this Rene, this Rascal, and Tiger, and your beloved LeBeau?"

"You will not think badly of me if I say Yes? It is not that I am unhappy, you know that, my Cally, not with us. It is just . . ." 

The auburn-haired beauty was relieved at the calm acceptance in the smile she received from the redhead.

"You are not unhappy with US, but you are unhappy that he is not WITH us. I take no offense at that. You can ask Coura; I always thought it would be the three of us, you, me, your small one. Well, at least from the time you started mentioning him with such affection after every meeting."

Marya gave a rather arch look, "I mentioned many others as well."

Cally snorted with derision, "yes, 'Wofie' and 'Schatzie' and 'Putzie', and there was always 'the Great Hogan', and it was obvious how much HE was in your esteem! Almost as much as all the generals and the scientists and others you conned so beautifully, even when you didn't eliminate them permanently! Even the monocle-wearing Kommandant at that Stalag got better reviews than Hogan, for someone who could read between the lines! All those 'daarrrrlllings!'" 

They shared a companionable laugh. Yes, that HAD been her catchword for those she found distasteful but had been obliged to charm and entice and caress, allowing their caresses in return; all those she had either eliminated once that particular job was completed, or, for the others, those she had been obliged to leave still breathing, something a bit different. 

'Daaarrrllling' - a way to give expression to her true feelings WITHOUT expressing her true feelings. It had worked quite well actually.

After the war, Cally had taken her to Homeland, to the Castle, and there, at the urging of the Grandmother, Marya had written their names, those who perhaps remained alive, on tiny scraps of paper and burned those memories in that oddly smelling fire in a large bronze bowl sitting on the table between them. She hadn't quite believed the promises the old woman had made, but in fact, after only the ashes remained and were stirred then covered in water fragrant with herbs, she felt for the threads of disgust, like sticky cobwebs, still clinging to her mind, her memory, only to find them fading, then gone. Oh, their faces were there, in case she needed to recognize them, but it was an impersonal recognition, as if they were strangers known only as photographs. 

She thought of Peter Newkirk, knowing how foul some of his memories had to be, had asked, but it was with sadness she was told, "we will try, of course, once his body has healed more and he is stronger, but it has rarely worked with the males, only the females, at least those who are not born of Clan bloodlines." 

As if that memory brought his name to her partner's mind, Cally recalled, "though it took you awhile to recognize and appreciate Caeide's Peter." Her face grew somber. "Well, from the description of the shape he was in when he got back, that was possibly understandable; the camp was not kind to him, but there was a time, Marya, when you would have recognized him right away, just from her description of him in her letters from that year. I saw him in London right before he took off that last time, was shot down, and those few years had only added to his obvious appeal."

Marya nodded in understanding, remembering the man she'd met in the camp. "Your cousin, she will help him to heal if there is any chance at all. But all of the changes, those cannot be reversed, Cally, only tempered, you must remember. The war, well, we all took damage," and her hand involuntarily traced the deep jagged scar on her cheek, "but Peter was especially marked, and not just physically. We all did things, endured things that left their mark. For him, the war, the Gestapo, the camp, 'the Great Hogan'. Perhaps the latter most of all. I was tempted to kill him myself, you know, Hogan, once I truly understood what he was, far too akin to my own family in many ways, but he was just so useful, both in that operation of his, and also as a pawn for my own games, I could not bear to do that. It was possibly a mistake," she admitted ruefully.

"Well, I imagine someone will get around to that little task one of these days. I wouldn't be surprised if the Clan didn't have something to do with it when it happens, too. Still, if we come across him, well, there's always time for a little makeup work," and the smile on her face would have positively chilled anyone not Clan, not Marya. After all, Marya had seen Cally as her most violent, ebony fur covered head to toe in blood, and while it was an uneasy memory, she had never been afraid of Cally, never felt in danger from her. 

Cally loved her, Marya knew that to the bottom of her being, would kill, or die, to protect her. Loved her enough to help her search for Louie LeBeau through a war-torn France, for if he was anywhere, it would be there, in his La Belle France. But as for whether they could convince him to join them? Especially if that meant leaving France behind for good? That was the question. 

And perhaps, with a great deal of luck, perhaps France might be a place for the three of them to settle after all. It didn't seem so very likely, but it was possible.

But now, the next stop on their journey, Paris - Paris, and Michel Brevard, and maybe, just maybe, Louie LeBeau.

 

Paris:  
Paris was still a shambles, but with more order appearing day by day. 

The French people were nothing if not determined, and a block that had been battered and torn one week would start to show a scurry of activity, and one day, before it seemed possible, there would be a hand-lettered sign in a window, 'chambres a louer' - Rooms For Rent. A bakery would be opening its doors for the first time, serving perhaps only three choices, perhaps even only one, but with the fragrant aroma drawing people from the streets outside. A storefront would be boarded up, then suddenly there would be three small tables and chairs outside on the sidewalk, with a placard declaring the offerings of the day. If nothing was lavish, that was not be expected, after all, but it was there, it was a beginning, and while it was a source of contentment, it was also a source of inspiration to take the next step. Today rooms for rent, tomorrow a hotel, or at least a pension or petit hotel, or auberge. Today a tiny three table cafe, tomorrow a busy bistro, eventually a fine restaurante. 

For Louie LeBeau, opening the doors to that tiny scrabbled together cafe had been a moment of such intensity as to bring tears to his eyes. So much time had passed, so much had happened, but now he was ready to take the first step, thanks to some assistance from Rene and Tiger, now Monsieur et Madame Michel Brevard. To meet Rene and Tiger here in Paris had been no great surprise, except for the miracle of them all surviving the war and returning to their homeland. That 'Michel' was willing to lend a hand, had offered without being asked, that was perhaps no surprise either, considering what they had experienced together.

He turned to smile at Marcel, a close friend from before the war, one who had worked with Rene and another with a similar dream of a place where fine food would be prepared and served and enjoyed. For Louie, there was another dream as well, but one for which the time had not yet come. Soon, though, when he had something to offer, soon. Then he would begin the search for the one who held his heart, walked through his dreams.

"So, mon ami, it begins." The two ex-soldiers nodded briskly to each other, donned their aprons, and got to work, picking over what had been available in the market, deciding how to make best use of what there was, to give their fellow citizens of this small corner of Paris a taste of the past, perhaps, hopefully, a taste of the future.

Soon there were four tables, then five, and when Marcel reunited with Brigette, one of the Underground contacts, the small storefront to the left was added to their tiny cafe, and now there were twelve tables, a bistro, but still with those additional three tiny tables placed outside each dry day.

It was while Louie was setting those three tables into line that he felt a presence of someone at his shoulder. Turning, he found a solemn faced Michel. 

"Louie, we have had visitors, Jeanne and myself. It is you they are searching for," and hastened on to relieve the sudden anxiety on his fellow Frenchman's face with a quick, "we said nothing, of course, not without bringing the matter to you. It is your choice whether to see them or not."

Well, Michel understood that anxiety quite well, should have chosen his words more carefully. He and Jeanne ALSO had those who might come looking, ones they would much prefer not to meet again. But these two who had come looking for LeBeau? Perhaps, they were not of that kind; it had not seemed so to him and his wife.

He had recognized the one, the younger one with the red curls, if not herself but her family. He had dealings with one or two others of her kind, after all; liked and respected them. But still, it was not for him to know her history, or the older one with the scar on her face, not enough to know their dealings with LeBeau. And her, the older one, he remembered her as well, at least he thought so; she had a reputation, one he was quite unsure of.

Now, as he described the two, saw the look of eagerness, of wonder, even, he knew these two were welcome visitors. How welcome, well, that he had yet to learn. 

"Then, you will come back with me? Meet with them? Jeanne and I will stay at hand, but give you all the privacy you wish, of course." 

LeBeau hesitated, then shook his head. "Once Brigette has arrived, so that Marcel is not having to deal on his own; young Lucien from the bakery will be glad to help. Then, within the hour, I will come."

 

He had hesitated outside their door, wanting to go in, eager, but still wondering what was awaiting him. Would it be what he had pictured this meeting to be? Or would he find at least that portion of his dream only a mirage, one perhaps regretted by the one who'd given him that dream. Well, more than one, for Coura, in her letters to Andre, had also encouraged him to dream.

Finally, he drew a deep breath, knocked on the door, only to have a gently smiling Tiger, {"ah, no, Jeanne, I must remember that!"} welcome him inside. 

"Relax, LeBeau, breathe. They seem most anxious to see you. They are old friends, non?"

The quick nod of his head, the shine of his dark eyes, reassured her of that, as did the quickening pace of his steps as she motioned him toward the living room. If she had a revolver in her pocket, just in case? Well, the old habits, they died hard. As she'd once told Rene, "it's best to let the old habits die hard, to prevent us from doing so, non, mon cher?"

Somehow, he was expecting that familiar toss of her head, that expressive tilt to her shoulders, the same "my SMALL von!" he'd heard so often, the outstretched arms showing intent if rarely actual contact. 

Instead, there was a hesitant smile, shy, almost that of a young girl, not the glamorous, exotic woman he remembered. The words, though, they were the same, "my small von!" if uttered in a much softer voice, almost prayerful, and the outstretched hand that cupped his cheek contained so much love he felt his heart still in response. At least he'd thought that, until her kiss started it beating again, at a pace that probably should have been considered illegal. {"But non, this is France; HERE it would almost be obligatory!"}

When he finally came to himself enough to realize they were not alone, he turned to the young woman who was perched on the arm of a chair, watching, all with a cheeky grin on her face. 

"You must be Marya's Louie, or at least you damned well better be!" she chuckled at him.

"And you, you are Marya's Cally, non?" addressing the young woman with all the red curls.

"I am Marya's Cally, yes. It is good to finally meet you, Louie," and she came forward to press a warm kiss of her own onto his cheek, a kiss he returned with pleasure.

Marya was watching with interest at this first meeting, then with a warm chuckle of her own, well contented with how things were going, suggested, "the good Jeanne has given us a bottle of wine, and suggested we make use of this room for as long as we wish. She will be busy in other parts of the house. So, come, let us talk."

 

If Marcel and Brigette were surprised by the newcomers, they held their tongues from any criticism, though they certainly discussed matters between themselves. The top level of the bistro had three apartments, one shared by Marcel and Brigette, one in which Louie had made his place during the few hours he wasn't working. The third they had thought to rent, perhaps, should the opportunity arise, and the two women set up housekeeping there. 

It had become apparent, almost overnight, that Louie and one of the women, the older one, had formed an intimate relationship. This was perhaps surprising only in that it was equally obvious that the two women were lovers as well. By the time it became apparent that the situation was somewhat more complex, Marcel and Brigette just shrugged. There was only affection there, no animosity, and happiness was in slim enough supply that they had no desire to interfere with what might exist. Besides, they made a good team, all of them.

Cally helped with the marketing, having a keen eye as to quality and being a sharp bargainer, as well as waiting tables and became, as she said, "the very finest of raw beginners" in the kitchen. "Perhaps I'll advance to rank amateur in the next twenty years or so, considering all the practice I'm getting!" 

That she'd said with a laugh, since it was unlikely she'd get very much kitchen time anyway, aside from washing dishes. Between Marcel and Louie, two keen chefs, and Marya, who turned out to be a fine hand with soups and ragouts, and stuffed pastas of all kinds, and young Lucien who was eager to learn from the three of them, there was scarcely room for another body back there. Brigette just laughed and agreed, but then Brigette's area of expertise was the general management, the handprinting of the menus, the making sure everything was spotless and appealing, not to mention managing their account books. She had no longing for the kitchen at all.

Perhaps they would have stayed there, that tiny cafe turned bistro eventually becoming one worthy of three stars in the Michelin guide. But that was not to be.

One day a man approached Marya as she shopped for fabric. Cally had drifted away to look at other goods and only noticed when she saw Marya's face, saw his hand tight around Marya's wrist, heard the snarl of a threat from the burly man. Cally had been quite willing to shove his words, along with his teeth and possibly other portions of his anatomy, down his throat, but a signal from Marya stopped her. They'd left, and although Cally had not stopped him entirely, she HAD circled back to make sure he did not follow them home. A quick call to Michel put him on alert, and he would muddy the trail further, but another meeting between Marya and the man would be disasterous.

It was with some reluctance that they made their decision. The man hadn't been an old enemy who could be overpowered, even eliminated, perhaps with an assist from Michel. Cally would have had no reluctance if that had been the case, even if the other two had been squeamish. No, he was a loyal Frenchman, but was one who had seen Marya at her work during the war, took her work at face value, and was not of a temperment to be swayed by the truth. 

If they met again, if he discovered where Marya lived, found out about Louie and the others, he would turn far too many against them. Feelings still ran high, and a body appearing in the alleyways with a sign 'traitre' or 'collaborateur' was not all that uncommon, and more than one business had been burned to the ground for such accusations against those who ran it. No, they had no choice.

"Where to?" Louie asked, more than a little numb, after he'd heard of what had happened. His dream had come together, a rich future ahead, and now? They had offered, but he had quickly rejected any idea of them leaving without him. If one part of the dream had to be left behind, it was this accumulation of tables and chairs and kitchen. Those things could be replaced, perhaps, but the two seated beside him? Non, they were not something to be replaced! But where were they to go? None of them wanted to have to keep rebuilding, only to move again and again. And it wasn't only Marya, after all. Louie had made a few enemies during the war as well, as had Cally.

The O'Donnell woman had been thinking about that, long and hard; had had an idea for a very long time, should it become necessary. 

"For now, I'm thinking Homeland. We can catch our breath, look at the options. There, perhaps another of the Enclaves would be a good long-term choice, perhaps elsewhere. A good chef will not go unwelcome anywhere we go, I would think."

And so it was. Marcel and Brigette, along with young Lucien, would continue with the bistro, with the promise of continued support from Michel and Jeanne. It would not be as difficult as it might have been, not with the added support from Clan O'Donnell, as promised by Cally. She had shrugged away their thanks, "it is a good investment, after all. And I expect eventually to see those three stars; I don't see how it could be otherwise," giving them a warm smile. 

Any who came asking questions would get a shrug. Yes, a woman of that description had, for a brief period of time, rented a room upstairs, but she had departed suddenly. No, they did not know where she had gone, but if the questioner found out, please to let them know, for she still owed a week's rent, you understand. 

Cousin Ian had showed up, ready to take them and what little they decided to take with them, on to Homeland. The Grandmother had, once again, been welcoming, and more than a little helpful. Louie found the castle chef to be a fellow Frenchman, but one with very eclectic experience including that of the Orient and lands far to the south, and one eager to share what he knew in exchange for Louie doing the same. Marya found additional release from some of the things that bothered her. Cally found Clan sisters and brothers for fellowship, and a place in teaching the young ones of the Clan some of her skills and knowledge.

By the time the invitation came for Louie to come to Haven, to once more meet with those of the command team from Stalag 13, they were just getting settled into a snug house at the back of a restaurant once operated by Carmen Maturo. Carmen, entering her eightieth year, had decided after nearly sixty years in the business to move to another Enclave where her youngest daughter and son-in-law and grandchildren were living, to pursue another dream, that of breeding new varieties of vegetables to be utilized by gourmet chefs and raising tiny long-haired dogs, and was well pleased to turn the thriving restaurant over to the three who the Grandmother had recommended to her.

"What will you tell them, my love, of me, of us?" Marya had asked with some curiosity, as she watched Louie pack his small bag. 

LeBeau had shrugged, "Hogan, him I will tell nothing, certainly. Pierre I will tell all; well, assuredly his Caeide will know some already, even if she has not spoken of it. Andre, Kinch? I will decide that once I am there." He turned to look at her, then at Cally, "perhaps I should not go. Perhaps . . ." only to get fond laughs from the both.

"Louie, I promise we won't burn the place down. We're going on a limited menu while you're gone, just what we know we can handle, along with a lot of promises of the wonderful things in store once you've returned. Go, enjoy being with them again. You've missed them, I know they've missed you," Cally assured him.

And he did go, and it was a memorable time, most especially with the nonsense Hogan had come up with. Although he never thought it would happen, LeBeau found himself echoing Major Wolfgang Hochstetter's words on at least two occasions, at least internally, in reaction to Hogan's monkey business during that visit. {"What is that man DOING here???!"} and {"Bah!!!"}. 

It relieved his mind, as he was leaving Haven, to know that Pierre was well settled with his Caeide and, finally, well content. He thought it would not be long before Andre would join them there in that out of the way place, much to the benefit of all. Kinch had seemed less well-positioned, and LeBeau could only hope the man would find his proper place in due time.

As for Louie himself? He missed his beloved France, always would, at some level. Still, when he looked around at what he had, at what had resulted from the choices he had made, he found himself well content. And with the eventual addition of Michelle and Marie, his daughters born to Marya and Cally, he found his life was rich indeed, more than he ever dreamed possible.


End file.
